


Year 2012

by Luna_Hart



Series: Snapshots [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Brock proposes, Engagement, HYDRA Husbands, M/M, Proposals, Sparring, Steve Rogers joins STRIKE, Strike Team, Team Bonding, finding Captain America, good guy Brock Rumlow, good guy Jack Rollins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-02 10:33:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11507592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna_Hart/pseuds/Luna_Hart
Summary: A collection of moments in the lives of Brock Rumlow and Jack Rollings:The year Steve Rogers was found. The year Steve Rogers joined STRIKE. The year Brock sparred with Captain America. The year Brock finally asked the question.





	1. March

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally here! Year 2012! Captain America is in the house, y'all! The next few years are gonna be one wild ride!

Jack moaned softly into Brock’s mouth as the other man rocked his hips slowly against Jack’s. It was their first day off in what felt like forever and Jack supposed it almost was.

They had both been run off their feet for the last three months, dealing with everything from insurgencies and revolutions to sneaky arms dealers and missing bioweapons. Finally, Jack had Brock all to himself, not having to share him with their work.He could take his time, instead of having to be satisfied with a quickie in the shower.

Jack was sliding down Brock’s body, relishing in the breathy pants and low moans that slipped past the other man’s lips, when Brock’s phone buzzed.

“Shit,” Brock breathed, rolling over and snatching it off the table. “It’s work.”

“Ignore it,” Jack said, twisting his wrist and making Brock choke. He smirked as Brock glared.

Jack nipped at the inside of Brock’s knee and got a smack upside the head for his troubles as Brock answered the phone.

"Rumlow." Jack paused as Brock’s eyebrows almost disappeared into his hair. “Copy, coming in.” Brock hung up and turned, eyes wide. Jack glanced over at the sound of his phone buzzing on the other side table and raised an eyebrow at Brock.

“They just found Captain America buried under the ice in the Arctic.”

 

 

Twenty minutes minutes later and Jack was pulling his truck into his parking spot at the Triskelion as Brock jumped out of his Jeep beside him. They rushed up the stairs two at a time and entered into a bustle of activity.

It was like someone had kicked a hornets nest. Agents were rushing around everywhere, a cacophony of people talking over each other. They headed towards headquarters as Evans and Murphy caught up with them.

“So you heard?” Murphy said excitedly. “Captain fucking America! Found in the ice after seventy years. What are the fucking odds?”

Jack had to agree with the man, although he didn’t quite share is enthusiasm. Of course Jack had grown up learning about Captain Steve Rogers, every child in America had. He never got the hype. He preferred the stories of the other Howling Commandos, of Timothy “Dum-Dum” Dugan and Percival “Pinky” Pinkerton and James Buchanan Barnes. He remembered reading the stories to his little sister, making up fantastic tales where Peggy Carter saved everyone from the evil clutches of HYDRA.

Ironic how it had all turned out in the end.

They left Murphy and Evans at the conference room and took their seats at the long table surrounded by all the other Heads of Departments at SHIELD. Maria Hill, the Assistant Director, sat across and nodded at the two men. She had taken over the job a few years back and, while neither Jack or Brock were on very friendly terms with the woman, she was component and very good at her job.

Eventually the last few stragglers filed in and Hill briefed them on what had happened. Jack listened, holding in a chuckle when they got the update that Rogers had woken up and promptly escaped into the middle of downtown New York. Director Fury was there dealing with the situation. He shared a smirk with Brock and tried to look innocent as Hill sent a glare his way.

 

 

Later that night, when they finally got home, they had a message waiting for them.

A simple blank envelope had been slipped under their door. Jack watched intently as Brock carefully opened it. Jack’s frowned as Brock froze, staring down at the card in his hand. Brock’s dark eyes snapped up to meet his and he flipped it around for Jack to see. 

Printed boldly on black card stock was a red skull with six curling tentacles.

Jack swallowed thickly. It had been eleven years since he had infiltrated SHIELD. Eleven years without so much as a whisper.

Until now.

Jack’s eyes flicked up to Brock’s. The other man’s body radiated tension and Jack took a deep breath. They had just been activated.

Captain America had returned, and HYDRA had taken noticed.

 

 


	2. April

“Fuck,” Brock snapped as he slammed the door to his office shut. Jack looked up from where he was sorting through mission reports, his feet up on Brock’s desk. Brock flung himself into his chair with another curse and logged onto his computer, fingers hammering on the keyboard like it had personally insulted him.

“Rough meeting?” Jack asked mildly, trying and mostly failing to decipher Hunter’s scrawl. It had been years and neither Jack nor Brock had been able to convince the man to send in his reports electronically.

“They’re giving STRIKE to Rogers,” Brock snapped, giving up on whatever he was doing on the computer and running his hand through his hair. It was a nervous tick, something he did unconsciously when he was under stress.

“What?” Jack said, taking his feet off the desk and sitting up straight, the report in his hand forgotten. “They’re demoting you?”

“Technically, no,” Brock sighed. “I’m still STRIKE’s Commander but he’ll be in command over me so it amounts to the same thing. He’ll be calling the shots.”

“Fuck that,” Jack growled. Brock just sighed again, whatever anger that had burned hot a moment ago fizzling out.

“It’s done, Jack,” Brock said tiredly. “I already spent the last hour trying to argue with Fury but that’s like trying to argue with a brick wall so just drop it.”

Jack opened his mouth to continue his protests when a knock at the door stopped him.

“Come,” Brock called. The door opened and Jack looked up and up at the mountain of muscle that stepped inside the office.

Captain Steve Rogers stood taller than even Jack, blonde hair cut regulation short on the sides and his jacket straining a little across his broad shoulders. His face looked open and friendly, if a little apprehensive. “Commander Rumlow?” he asked, glancing between Jack and Brock.

Brock stood. Rogers stepped across the rest of the office, extending his hand.

“Steve Rogers. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Commander,” the man said with an easy smile.

“Likewise, Captain,” Brock said mildly, although his eyes were a little wary. “This is my Second, Jack Rollins,” Brock said gesturing to Jack.  
Rogers turned that easy smile as Jack stood and shook hands with this man out of time. He would have found if very surreal if he hadn’t been so pissed.

Ten years with STRIKE and here they both were, being passed over for The Star Spangled Man With A Plan. Rogers was a relic and he didn’t belong here. As it was, he was pleased to notice that while the Captain’s grip was firm, he didn’t try and battle for dominance and crush Jack’s hand like many men Jack knew. He could grudgingly afford the man a small sliver of respect for that.

“Rollins,” Rogers said with a nod. Jack nodded back, face carefully blank, eyes hard. If Rogers found it off-putting, he didn’t show it. “Wanted to come introduce myself, seeing as we will be working together,” the man continued, turning back to Brock.

Brock smiled, but it was a little tight around the edges. Roger’s noticed and shifted his weight, for the first time betraying his uneasiness.

“I just want to do my part, not step on any toes,” Rogers stated. Jack’s eyes were sharp as they stayed locked on the blonde mans face, watching for anything that would betray any deception.

“I understand that I am coming into an already well-oiled machine,” Rogers continued. “And it is not my intention to mess with the order of things. STRIKE is yours, Commander Rumlow. I have no intention of undermining your authority.”

Brock nodded curtly in response and Rogers nodded to them both, a small smile on his face. “I look forward to working with you both.” He turned to leave and stopped when Brock called to him. “Captain Rogers,” Rogers turned and looked back.

“STRIKE meets at the gym down on Level 2 first thing every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday for a sparring session,” Brock continued. “Hope to see you there.”

Rogers hesitated. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea but I appreciate the offer.” He said finally.

“I’m serious,” Brock continued aa Jack glanced back and forth between the two men. “As you said, we will all be working together. Best to know what everyone is capable of. Good way to get to know everyone as well.”

Jack watched Rogers grinned, soldier to soldier, before nodded and promising he would stop by next Thursday.

“Good way to get to know everyone,” Jack parroted in a winy voice after the door clicked shut, picking up Hunter’s report again. “Shut up,” Brock said mildly, no venom behind the harsh words. “He’s not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” Jack drawled. He wasn’t sure what he thought of Captain Rogers yet, however he liked how he had handled himself in the room. Now he just had to prove that he had no intention of undermining the chain of command. Jack knew STRIKE would put up a fight if he tried.

“I don’t know,” Brock confessed, tapping a finger against his lip.

“Bald eagle on his shoulder? Stars and stripes shooting out of his ass?” Jack tossed Hunter’s report back on the desk, giving up. Hunter would just have to redo it. Jack couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

Brock snorted and threw a paperclip at Jack’s head.


	3. September

“I yield! I yield!” Murphy squeaked, tapping out against Hunter’s choke hold. Jack smirked as Brock and the rest of STRIKE roared with laughter. Hunter rolled onto his back, flipping to his feet like a freaking ninja and offering a hand to Murphy. 

It was early Monday morning and STRIKE had assembled in Level 2’s gym, lounging and stretching around the perimeter of the large, padded arena while they took turns sparring. 

Brock slapped Hunter on the shoulder as he stepped off the mats and snatched the gatorade out of Jack’s hands. Jack swatted him across the back of the head but made no move to grab it back. 

Jack stretched lazily, glancing around the room. STRIKE Alpha and Echo were there, as was Evans, Jennings and a couple of the handlers from Level 6 who were former field agents. Rogers also stood against the far wall, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed across his broad chest, watching STRIKE’s antics. He usually came to the sparring sessions, but never joined in. 

It had been a few months now since STRIKE had been reordered to accommodate the new addition of Captain America. Jack could barely say that with a straight face. It all seemed so ridiculous. As it was, they had yet to be sent out together on a mission. Fury wanted to give the Captain more time to adjust to the new century before throwing him into the fray. 

Evans leaped up onto the mat, two short batons in his hands. Double stick-fighting was something STRIKE trained a lot in as they often used bam-sticks, electrically charged batons, in the field. 

Evans swung the batons around his body and then pointed to Jack. “Lets go, Rollins!” He barked with a smirk. “Show me whatcha got!” He teased, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

Jack snorted but took the batons Brock passed him and strode up onto the mats. He rolled his shoulders, loosening the muscles and cracking his neck. 

Evans grinned, all teeth, eyes sharp and calculating. They circled each other slowly as STRIKE whooped and hollered. It was always a noisy affair when STRIKE trained together. Insults and encouragements were thrown around from the sidelines, and towels and gatorade were readily handed out after matches. 

Jack let it all fade away, focusing in on Evans. With a sudden burst, Evans lunged forward, baton swinging for Jack’s head. Jack blocked it easily, ducking under the second baton and slicing towards Evan’s belly. The slender man jumped nimbly back, grinning like a maniac. 

Jack smirked and settled into the rhythm of the fight. They danced around each other, striking and blocking, weaving and ducking. The speed increased until their batons were nothing more than a blur and sweat soaked through the back of Jack’s shirt. 

Evans was a nimble fighter, making up for what he didn't have in size and strength with speed and accuracy. Jack collected just as many bruises as he dealt out. Eventually though, Evans slipped up. He lunged and Jack slipped to the side, making Evans overshoot and go off balance. With a practised swing of his baton, he swiped Evans feet out from under him. 

The red head landed hard on his back, prompting groans of sympathy from the watching STRIKE. As soon as Evans was down Jack was on him, pinning his arms and pressing his baton lightly to the man’s throat. 

“Fuck,” Evan’s gasped, knocking his head back against the mats in frustration. He grinned up at Jack, teeth tinged pink from where Jack’s elbow had caught the corner of his mouth, and tapped out. 

Jack stood, wiping sweat from his eyes and offered the man a hand. He pulled Evans to his feet and clapped him on the back as they stepped off to the side. Jack took a towel from Jennings and wiped his face and neck. 

A big hand entered into his vision, dwarfing the gatorade bottle it held out in offering. He glance up into bright blue eyes. 

“That was very impressive, Lieutenant,” Rogers said with an easy smile. Jack stifled a snort. The man tried so hard, so earnest all the time. It annoyed the shit out of Jack.

“Thanks,” Jack said gruffly, taking the gatorade and draining half of it in two gulps. Jack still didn’t really know how to act around the man yet, but since his reputation in STRIKE was ‘silent and brooding’, Rogers didn’t seemed at all offended by his short responses and lack of further conversation. 

He and Rogers sat down on a nearby bench, watching as Jennings and one of the handlers, Mathieson, sparred with shock knives.

As the round came to a conclusion, Brock approached them with a glint in his eye. Jack knew that look, and it could only mean trouble. 

“What do you say, Cap?” Brock said, having adopted the nickname along with the rest of STRIKE since Rogers had joined them. “You and me. Hand to hand, no weapons. Let’s see what you're made of.” 

Rogers hesitated, as he always did. No one had successfully convinced him to spar yet. Jack could tell the man was worried of hurting someone by accident. They had all seen him go against the heavy bags, the steams stretched to the limit. 

“Come on, Cap,” Hunter called out a few paces down. The rest of STRIKE voiced their agreement. Rogers glanced around before looking back at Brock. 

“Don’t worry,” Brock nettled with that shit-eating grin of his. “I’ll go easy on you.”

Rogers huffed a laugh and shook his head, but got to his feet all the same. STRIKE whooped as the two men stepped up onto the mats. 

Jack watched intently, leaning forward as the two men sized each other up. Rogers practically dwarfed Brock, his silhouette far broader and imposing. Brock was used to fighting people bigger than him though, so Jack was confident he could hold his own, at least for a little while. 

Brock swung out a fist towards Roger’s face, testing him. Rogers dodged nimbly and turned, curling his leg up and lashing out. Brock jerked to the side, the blow just missing him. He rocked back, respect in his eyes. Jack was impressed too. STRIKE certainly was, based on the wolf whistles and cat-calls. 

The fight continued, slowly ramping up as the two men got a feel for the others style. Brock hit fast and hard, dancing around, lashing out with a fist or a foot with deadly accuracy. Rogers seemed to flow like water, moving faster than one would have expected for a man of his size. He seemed to seamlessly float around Brock’s blows with a strange sort of grace that was, well Jack had to admit it was fucking impressive. 

The fight didn’t last as long as some of the others. Rogers had what seemed like endless stamina however, and Brock already had two previous fights under his belt. Jack could see when Brock started to flag. 

It ended abruptly with Brock landing hard on the mats. STRIKE lost it, clapping and whistling. Rogers held a hand out to Brock who took it with a grin that looked only a little pained. 

“Jesus, Cap,” Brock wheezed, bending over and bracing himself. “I’m damn impressed but not really surprised.” 

“You did pretty well yourself,” Rogers said encouragingly as they stepped down. Jack covered a smirk as Brock did his best to not wince, a hand hovering towards his ribs.  
He wasn’t successful though and Rogers’ quick eyes caught the grimace. Jack watched as Brock waved off Rogers’ concerns, saying that he was fine and congratulating Rogers’ on a fight well fought. 

The blonde man didn't look fully convinced but finally nodded. Brock made his way to where Jack sat as STRIKE swarmed over the Captain. It was something else to watch Captain America fight, let alone fight their own Commander. 

Brock sat next to Jack with a grimace, who rolled his eyes and snorted. 

“You just had to prove that you're tough shit, huh,” Jack drawled.

“I’m fine, they’re just bruised.”

Jack rolled his eyes and poked at Brock’s ribs. The other man muffled a curse and swatted at Jack’s hand, wincing. “Okay,” Brock admitted. “Badly bruised. But it was worth it.”

“Uh-huh,” Jack muttered as he passed the rest of his gatorade to the other man. “It was something to watch, for sure,” he said dryly. “And you lasted longer than I expected.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, jackass,” Brock snarked. “So what do you think?” He added quietly.

“I think,” Jack replied slowly. “He’s gonna be a big headache for us in the long run.” 

Brock nodded in agreement, sipping the gatorade as they watched Rogers chat amiably with the rest of the agents, looking mildly embarrassed by all the attention.


	4. December

Christmas in the Rollins household had always been a festive affair. There was never much money to go around, but Jack’s mother always seemed to be able to save up enough to buy a turkey, serving it with yams and bacon stuffing. The living room would be warm with candles on every surface and a small tree would sit in the corner, glittering with tinsel.

There often weren’t presents, but Jack still remembered the first Christmas he had a job. He was nine, and had saved up enough for for a tin of hot chocolate. The look of delight on his sisters face, and the pride on his mothers, had been enough of a present.

 

Brock, on the other hand, had more bad Christmas memories than good. He remembered when he was little, his sister would order pizza and pick up ice cream as a treat and they would rent a movie and he would get to stay up past his bedtime. The next morning there would be a small present wrapped in newspaper on the coffee table. It would be something practical, like new shoes, but Brock would be ecstatic. It wasn’t traditional, but it was good.

When Meg died, Christmas lost any sort of meaning or magic. Even after he was settled in a good home, with the woman he would eventually call Nona, Christmas wasn’t really celebrated. Sure, there was turkey and a few presents but nothing ever felt special about it.

Once he had moved out on his own, Brock never celebrated Christmas. He would skip the holiday parties, order in while binge watching shitty action movies, and sleep in late.

When Jack had moved in, it had taken a few years for them to work out how to celebrate. Traditions collided, bad memories surfaced, and a few heated arguments ended with one or the other sleeping on the couch. It had taken a while but they had finally fallen into a routine.

On Christmas Eve they would order pizza and pick up ice cream and watch shitty action movies late into the night. The next morning Jack would put the turkey in the oven. Brock would help and by help it would be more like hinder and annoy Jack as he made yams and bacon stuffing. Later that night they would exchange a small present or two, usually something sharp or semi-automatic.

This Christmas, however, was gonna be different. This year was going to be a little extra special. Brock was gonna make sure of it.

 

 

Jack stretched and yawned, wincing as his collarbone popped. He rolled out of bed and padded into the kitchen, following the smell of sizzling bacon. He stole up behind Brock, wrapping his big hands around the other man’s hips.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered.

“Morning,” Brock replied, flipping bacon from pan to plate. He had gotten better at cooking since Jack had first met him. Better was a loose term, Jack supposed. Brock could make coffee and not burn bacon but that was still about it. Jack poured a cup of coffee and hoisted himself up on the counter that doubled as a breakfast bar.

They sat in silence for a moment before Brock glanced over and nodded to the small parcel sitting on the counter beside Jack, wrapped in newspaper. Jack smirked and picked it up. He gently unwrapped it, revealing a small box. Puzzled, he lifted the lid.

Nestled inside the black velvet were two large silver rings.

His eyes flicked up to Brock, but the other man had his back to him. The pan sizzled sharply as Brock laid in more bacon to cook. He didn’t even glance back. Jack looked back down at the box, swallowing sharply. He lifted the bands out of their box with trembling fingers. He ran his fingers over them, small grooves on the inside catching his eye. Jack spun them around and his breath caught in his chest as he read what was engraved.

On the inside of one of the rings was carved _Till The End_. On the other, _Always_.

Jack felt his throat close and he struggled to swallow.

Hands came into view and gently took one of the rings. Jack watched in shocked silence as Brock took Jack’s left hand and slide the _Always_ band onto his ring finger. Jack’s hand was definitely not trembling.

Only then did Brock look up. Green eyes met brown. Brock’s eyes flickered, a nervous energy radiating off him in waves. He opened his mouth to say something but Jack didn’t let him get a word in, lunging forward and capturing Brock’s mouth with his own. After a moment, Jack pulled away and took Brock's hands in his. He slide the second band gently onto Brock’s finger, heart hammering in his chest.

Brock’s eyes searched his for a moment. He seemed to find what he was looking for and his face broke into a massive smile. He leaved in to kiss Jack again.

“Merry Christmas,” Brock whispered against Jack’s lips.

 

 


End file.
